Foreplay
by Ivory-Bride
Summary: Just like the title says: foreplay. Dirty, dirty me! ....sort of... Dramatic in the beginning, but then it gets funny... Warning: FS slash Don't read if you don't like.


A/N: You know? I've just recently come to the conclusion that none of my fics have plots. It's kind of sad, really, but. . . hey. I still like them. I hope other people do.  
  
So here's another plot-less F/S romance, which I'm rather fond of. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Oh yeah! This is my first. . .um. . .rated R fic *blush* Heh heh. . . I didn't want to go too into detail. . .just enough, you know? Anyway, you can read now. . .  
  
~*~~~  
  
"Soft and golden, like the wings of an eagle," soft whispers drifted into his ear, the words soothing him, washing away any feelings he may have had before of fright or anxiety. Scholar's fingers ran through his hair, touching each strand and tendril with equal attention. Frodo's mouth kisses from Sam's ear to rest right above it, resting his nose in the gold.  
  
"Apprehension is ebbing away. . ." a deep breath. "The sun, gold, pipeweed, fire. . ." he draws back and looks into Sam's eyes, which are watering. "Your scent is of home." Sam's hand tightens around his lover's as a smile graces his lips. Frodo smiles, too, warm and loving. He brushes a strand of hair away from Sam's eyes, marveling at the feather-light flutter of his eyelashes. He leans in, pressing lips to temple, then looks back to his eyes.  
  
"Like honey. Just like honey." He squints. "There's a circle of deep brown along the outside. The inside is.gold. Flecks of gold, and honey, and the sun. Reminds me of the way honey tastes when I lick it off your skin." Frodo's lips turn into a mischievous smile. "You're blushing," he says, tracing fingers over Sam's cheek.  
  
"It's-it's your words. . ." Sam stutters. Frodo whispers "Shhh. . ." and leans in to kiss him again. He trails kisses to Sam's cheek where he studies it with breath and roaming eyes.  
  
"Your skin is lightly tanned from the sun. Warm like a sunrise. Like a sunrise over the hills in summer, when you wake up with its rays on your face and your love in your arms." His fingers trace circles on Sam's cheek then trail down and lift his chin, so that their lips meet and greet each other with a light brush. When Frodo's eyes flicker open, he smiles and begins the study of Sam's lips.  
  
"Soft. So soft. A pinkish red, like. . ." another gentle smile and a soft chuckle. "Like a peach."  
  
Sam laughs. "A peach?" Frodo nods, still smiling, and kisses him again.  
  
"A peach," he repeats. He wraps one arm around Sam's neck and traces the contours of his lips with his other hand.  
  
"So full and perfect," he whispers, a breath away from Sam's face. He tastes Sam's lips once more, this time lingering for a long, deep kiss. Once parted, he breathes in a sigh.  
  
"Your kisses are intoxicating. They can be. . .anything, really. That one was like honey and summertime," he takes another short, sweet, kiss. "But they can also be like rain and springtime." Another kiss, lingering and passionate. Romantic and lustful both at once. He gives a gentle smile with half-lidded eyes, and whispers.  
  
"That was like. . .lying with you under the blankets on a winter's day, when it's snowing. With a fire, and hot tea, and. . .us." He slips into Sam's arms, being held and protected. He looks up when he feels Sam's chest rise in a short intake of breath. His eyes are watering and his lips trembling.  
  
"What's wrong?" asks Frodo, running fingers in slow circles on Sam's chest. Sam shook his head.  
  
"Frodo-love, I don't deserve you."  
  
Frodo smiles and wipes away Sam's tears with an outstretched finger. "Sam, it's I who doesn't deserve you." He looks deep into Sam's eyes. "You're so beautiful. . ." Sam's lips began to tremble again, and he leans forward and kisses Frodo. They sit afterward, foreheads touching, eyes closed, just feeling each other's presence and whispering.  
  
"Are you ready to come out of your shell?" teases Frodo, smiling.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" asks Sam, skeptically.  
  
"Oh, nothing. . ." Frodo slowly leans down on the bed, gently pulling Sam down with him. He shifts so that he is half on top of Sam, lips conveniently inches away from Sam's neck. That particular part is his next study point.  
  
"You're neck. . ." he begins, smiling. "I know you're particularly fond of me kissing you there." Month of practice have come in handy, and Frodo knows his lover's weaknesses. He kisses Sam on the side of his neck while his fingers run along the other side. Sam at first sighs and closes his eyes, but then twitches and arches his neck up.  
  
"Frodo! I'm ticklish on my neck." he says, blushing. Frodo halts his careful ministrations on Sam's neck to lift his head and grin.  
  
"I know," he says, simply. His head descends once more. After a few moments, he grows bored and that mischievous grin spreads across his face once more. His fingers dance along the side of Sam's neck and along his collarbone. Sam twists and turns, arching his neck up and away from Frodo's fingers.  
  
At first he turns with his back to Frodo, but he finds that that isn't quite working, so he turns around, squirming, laughing, and gasping for breath. Frodo tries to tickle him, but with all Sam's squirming, it's turning out to be quite hard. Sam ducks his head and hunches his shoulders, nuzzling into Frodo's chest and pulling him closer with both arms.  
  
Giving up, Frodo runs his hand through Sam's hair instead. Sam unfurls from his curled up position and kisses Frodo's neck, lovingly.  
  
"You're quite affectionate, seeing as I just attacked you in a tickle war," chuckles Frodo.  
  
"Mmm. . ." murmurs Sam. "I forgive easily." Frodo smiles and runs a hand through Sam's hair. When Sam looks up, he brushes their lips together, lightly, before returning to his description. He shifts lower so that his eyes and lips are at Sam's neck.  
  
"Your neck is soft. As soft as silk but warm like velvet." He leans in and leaves another gentle kiss on Sam's skin. Studying it for a moment, he smiles.  
  
"It's funny. With your hair, and skin, and the shadows from the candlelight, you remind me of autumn leaves." Sam smiles and brings Frodo's hand to his lips to kiss it. He kisses each fingertip individually and caresses it, lovingly.  
  
"Well if I'm autumn, then you would be winter, if you don't mind me saying. Your skin is pale white and you're beautiful like the day after a snowstorm. Your eyes and your skin remind me of snowflakes, but you're warm and lovely like when we sit by the fire under a blanket." Frodo smiles and pulls Sam in closer.  
  
"Well, my little poet, you have quit a way with words."  
  
Sam blushes. "Oh. . .no I don't, Frodo-love. Not like you do." Frodo smiles and shakes his head. He kisses Sam's ear and whispers into it.  
  
"Meleth, your words are beautiful because your heart makes them beautiful." He traces his fingers over Sam's lips. "You don't need fancy Elvish poetry when you have a heart like you do."  
  
"Frodo. . ." Sam whispers his lovers name and runs fingers up and down his neck. The candlelight flickers, reflecting in Frodo's eyes before dying out, just as the two lean in and kiss. There are a few awkward seconds before they pull back, startled. Frodo breaks the silence.  
  
"Meleth? . . .Love, I can't see."  
  
Sam chuckles. "Neither can I. How long had you used that candle before tonight?"  
  
"I. . .don't know. I thought it would last."  
  
Sam clicks his tongue and shakes his head; not that Frodo can see it after the whole candle incident.  
  
"'Thought it would last. . .'" He somehow finds the small of Frodo's back in the dark and pulls him closer. "When's the full moon?" he asks, noticing the lack of moonlight outside. Frodo lifts his head to look out the window, then drops back and nestles under Sam's chin.  
  
"I don't know, but I guess it's not tonight. By the looks of it, it must be the new moon." Frodo sighs and his hands start to wander. Sam laughs.  
  
"Begging your pardon love, but what *are* you doing?"  
  
Frodo smiles. "I'm trying to find your hand."  
  
"Well it's not down there, and if you go any lower you'll be in trouble." Sam takes Frodo's hand in his own and kisses it, smiling.  
  
"What do you mean "trouble?"  
  
"Trouble meaning you'll have to finish what you've started."  
  
"Ah. Well begging *your* pardon, but I haven't finished thing I started. Last I remember I was describing this lovely neck of yours and I never got to your chest."  
  
"Last *I* remember we got distracted by autumn laves and winter snowstorms."  
  
Frodo smiles. "We did, didn't we?"  
  
"Yes, we did." Silence. ". . .Should we continue?"  
  
"I'd love to," Frodo whispers, undoing Sam's top buttons. When he's halfway done, he pauses. "I can't see, though. . ."  
  
"That's alright. You can see by touching."  
  
Frodo gives a childish giggle. "That was very sensual. It made me shiver."  
  
Sam smiles and tousles Frodo's hair. "You can act just like a child at times, you know that?"  
  
"In a good way or a bad way?"  
  
"A good way. I think it's adorable."  
  
"Well thank you." Frodo undoes the last button and pushes the shirt back. His eyes decide not to cooperate in the dark, so her uses his fingers. They trail up and down in slow circles, pausing very now and then while Frodo leaves a kiss in their trails. Sam closes his eyes and sighs as the familiar touch washes over him. Frodo's breath comes in short whispers to his ears.  
  
"Skin soft as velvet. Scented like lavender from that soap you love so much. A taste of the sun and sugar. . .a hint of soap. That tastes interesting."  
  
Sam laughs. "Should taste like lavender."  
  
"'Should' is the key word there." He kisses Sam's collarbone and runs his hands down Sam's sides until they come to rest on his hips. They linger there, seductively, as Sam shivers and wonders where they're headed. Frodo allows his fingertips to dance upward until they rest on Sam's lips. He leans in and replaces fingertips with mouth.  
  
The kiss is long and soft, hiding a world of emotions behind one action. It adopts a personality, becomes stubborn and refuses to end. When it does, smaller kisses are stolen in its wake, as if to make up for its absence. It is love; pure and true.  
  
"Oh Sam. . .meleth nin," Frodo whispers. He laughs, softly, realizing what he has said. "How can you put up with me switching between languages like that?"  
  
Sam smiles and replies, jokingly, "oh it's hard, but not as hard as putting up with you all day." He steals a kiss.  
  
Frodo laughs in mock-hurt. "Is that so?" He steals another kiss.  
  
"Mmm hmm," Sam murmurs. Frodo starts kissing his neck again. "It's true, sometimes you start acting like a crazy person, but I just have to nod my head and play along."  
  
Frodo looks up from Sam's neck. "Oh, you'll pay for that." he kisses again before giving Sam's neck a tiny nibble.  
  
"Oh, was that a punishment?"  
  
Frodo smiles. "Mmm hmmm," he murmurs, going back to kissing.  
  
"Well then I'll have to make you angry more often, because I like being punished."  
  
Frodo gives another involuntary shiver. Noticing, Sam smiles. "I did it again, didn't I? I was very "sensual?" he asks, proudly. Frodo laughs.  
  
"Yes, you were. If I could see past my own nose I'm sure I'd see a giant grin on your face. Proud, are you?"  
  
Sam smiles and pulls Frodo closer. "Very. I think making you shiver is an achievement."  
  
Frodo smiles. "Well then you must be the champion of the sport."  
  
"Do I get a prize?"  
  
"I'm sure we'll work something out."  
  
Sam smiles, mischievously. He had come up with an idea, and his facing lighting up proved it. "I know! For making you shiver the first time, I get to take of your shirt, and for the second time I get to take off your-"  
  
"Weskit."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Weskit. You can't take off my shirt without first taking off my weskit."  
  
Sam frowns. "But it's my prize. . .shouldn't I get to choose?"  
  
Frodo smiles, teasingly. "Nope. Besides, it just doesn't work that way. It's impossible to take off my shirt without taking off my weskit first." Sam keeps frowning. Frodo can't see it, but he knows it is there. He laughs while Sam sulks.  
  
"I don't think this is very fair."  
  
"Sam, love, it's not fair, but it's the art of foreplay."  
  
Sam smiles at that, as it practically guarantees him some action. "Is it supposed to be long and drawn out and torturous?" he asks, smiling. Frodo kisses the tip of his nose, finding it with his fingers before setting lips to skin.  
  
"Yes. It makes everything else all the better." Sam finds that intriguing, too.  
  
"Well in that case. . ." roaming hands and wet lips ensues, and soon Frodo too is without a shirt. Not that he minds. He is being pampered.  
  
"I think we're even now," whispers Sam, kissing Frodo's pale skin.  
  
"I think we are."  
  
"So can we stop talking now?"  
  
Frodo laughs. "My, someone's eager."  
  
Sam smiles. "It's your own fault for letting your fingers roam too low."  
  
Frodo gives another guilty yet satisfied smile. "But I haven't finished describing you."  
  
"Oh you've quite proved your point, Frodo-love."  
  
Frodo grins, haughtily. "See? I told you, didn't I? I told you I could paint your portrait with words."  
  
"Aye, you told me. And I didn't listen. But I've changed my opinion."  
  
"Have you?"  
  
"I have. Turned it right around. And now, my lovely painter, hush because I can do some things that will astound you, too."  
  
"Can you?"  
  
"Hush." The painter receives a wet kiss. "Hush." 


End file.
